I return my focus to the task at hand, which is getting Dr. Jason Northrup’s Porsche back to the hospital without a scratch or dent and without getting myself arrested.
CHAPTER 2
CARMEN
The metal door slides shut with a loud clank that makes me jump out of my skin. Looking through the bars, I begin to laugh hysterically. This was not how I pictured the first day of my professional life unfolding. It wasn’t even my fault. The car in front of me swerved, startling me into swerving, too. Of course, the cop behind us only saw me swerve and pulled me over.
When I couldn’t produce my driver’s license or proof that I had permission to drive the car, the officer said he didn’t have any choice but to take me in and impound the Porsche until I can produce my license and prove I didn’t steal it.
At the thought of my parents finding out I’m in jail, I choke on my laughter while my hands tremble uncontrollably. I’ve never even been to detention, let alone jail. How can this be happening?
They let me call my office at the hospital—you know, where I started my dream job today—to leave a message for Dr. Northrup. I asked him to call the station to confirm I didn’t steal his Porsche. That was a tricky proposition—having the admin in the executive offices track down the new neurosurgeon, whom I’m supposed to be babysitting, because I need him to confirm I didn’t steal his car.
I’m wondering how that sentence will look on my first performance appraisal.
If or when he makes that call and gets me out of lockup, then I’ll retrieve the car he calls Priscilla from wherever they towed it. God, what if they damaged it? Will he expect me to pay for the repairs? How much will it cost to get the car back?
And what if he says I did steal his car, since he didn’t exactly give me permission to drive it off the hospital campus? When it settles in that I’m probably going to be here awhile, I turn away from the bars to examine the tiny cell. At least it seems somewhat clean. The second I notice the toilet sitting against the back wall, I feel the urgent need to use it. But the thought of going where anyone can see me is unimaginable, so I’m determined to hold it until I have some privacy.
I lower myself gingerly to the narrow bunk. What if no one comes for me? What if Northrup reports the car stolen? What if I have no choice but to call my parents to bail me out? The thought of them coming to get me here has my stomach surging with nausea.
I have no idea how long I’m there. Judging by the discomfort coming from my overtaxed bladder, it has to be more than an hour.
The tingling sensation that dances over my skin is the first indication that Jason Northrup has materialized outside my cell. I have my own cell. Awesome.
“Fancy meeting you here.” He flashes the sexy grin that made my heart race and my panties go damp earlier.
I’m in the biggest fight with my heart and my panties.
I jump to my feet, which I immediately regret thanks to the aforementioned bladder situation. “I didn’t steal your car.”
“Then how’d it end up getting impounded on I-95?”
“I gave Betty a ride to the airport. You told me to take care of her. She said her flight was at ten thirty. If I’d called a cab or Uber, she would’ve missed the flight.”
His eyes drop to my chest, and just like that my nipples react.
Now I’m in a fight with them, too.
He returns his golden-eyed gaze to my face. “What happened to your jacket?”
Okay, so he was looking at the stain the portfolio left and not at my breasts. Try telling my breasts that. “Industrial accident.”
His eyebrows come together in a stern expression that’s just as sexy as all his other expressions. “And why are you dancing around like you’ve got ants in your pants?”
“Because.” I can’t believe I’m going to have to say these words to him, of all people. “I have to pee, if you must know.”
He glances at the toilet in the cell and then at me.
“Not happening. Tell me you brought my purse so I can get out of here.”
He points to the purse tucked under his arm, which I hadn’t noticed.
A guard materializes and unlocks the cell door.
I’m so anxious to get out of there that I bolt forward and tilt awkwardly on my heel.
Northrup reaches out to stop me from falling, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I nearly lose control of my bladder.
“Please find me a bathroom with a door.”
He takes me by the elbow and steers me through the corridors to a restroom in the lobby.
I have to go so badly I don’t take the time to contemplate the wisdom of allowing him to touch me, but my body has plenty to say about it. Tingling, goose bumps, pebbling, moistening. And all he did was place his hand on my elbow. This is not good—and it’s so, so bizarre. I’ve never in my life reacted to anyone the way I do to him, and that makes me doubly mad. My late, beloved husband deserves far more respect than what he’s been getting from me since Jason Northrup showed up.
In the restroom, I manage to tear my hose in the urgent quest for relief. Afterward, at the sink, I catch only a brief glance of myself in the mirror, but it’s enough to see wild, frizzy dark hair thanks to a convertible and the South Florida humidity.
Resting my hands on the sink, I take a moment to gather myself, to summon the fortitude to resist the ridiculous attraction to Dr. Jason Northrup, who is so not my type it’s not even funny, and prepare to face my new coworkers after a brief stint in jail. Hell of a way to start a new job.
My reaction to him has me rattled. It’s been years since I’ve experienced anything resembling desire. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like.
Tony has been gone so long sometimes it feels like we happened in a dream. The memories of him and the time we had together are fading with the passage of time, as much as I wish that wasn’t the case. I’m terrified of forgetting him, and my reaction to Dr. Northrup makes me feel disloyal to the man who loved me with his whole heart.
I can’t be attracted to Jason Northrup. Not like that. He’s a professional colleague, and thus off-limits.
Besides, any guy who looks like him, drives a car like his and carries the title of “brain surgeon” has to be the romance equivalent of poison ivy. It would serve me well to remember that and keep my focus on repairing the damage I’ve done to my fledgling career in one calamitous morning.
I do what I can with my hair, which is basically nothing, and leave the room with a brisk, determined stride—barreling straight into the unyielding chest of Dr. Jason Northrup. Damn, of course he smells as good as his car. Better, if I’m being honest. Releasing a choppy sigh, I take comfort in the knowledge that this day has to end at some point.
“Feel better?” That teasing grin sends shivers down my spine—and probably the spine of every red-blooded woman in the universe.
I step back from him, forcing him to drop the hold he has on my arms. “Much better. Am I allowed to leave?”
“You have to pay the ticket and sign some stuff.”
“I’m getting a ticket?” My driving record is impeccable—or it was until now.
“’Fraid so. Driving without a license.”
“But I have a license. I just didn’t have it with me.”